


I'm Not Ready. (Let Us Be Brave)

by Theokicks



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Coping, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Genim Stilinski, I can make a sequel with a relationship maybe..., I could, John Stilinski - Freeform, Pack Cuddles, Pack Family, Pack Feels, Sciles, Stilinski Family Feels, Stydia, it can be interpreted in many ways, oh well, skiles, sterek, stisaac - Freeform, this is probably not what this section is for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-20 23:11:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2446574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theokicks/pseuds/Theokicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stilinski is mortally wounded, wasting away in the hospital and it can't end like this. He can't watch his son watch him die, the only thing he's holding on for, he can't ask to hold on to anymore. Stiles has to leave him, regardless of all that's come to pass he will not be there for him...so he needs to know that there will be others who will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Not Ready. (Let Us Be Brave)

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. Okay I cried like a babe writing this. How? Well, simply listen to one of the following songs whilst reading and maybe it will do the same for you. (Hysteric-acoutsic version by Yeah Yeah Yeahs) (Heaven by Beyoncé) (Weight of Us by Sanders Bohlke) 
> 
> Warning for Triggers? Maybe? To be safe there is mention of those who've died in Teen Wolf (excluding Aidan because...idk because) also arguing with a dying relative, emotional conflict in being told to leave a hospital room...

Stiles couldn’t breathe, by the time he skidded into the parking lot he was racing out of his jeep, leaving everything in it, not even bothering to shut the door he had practically broken to get out. 

He only slowed when he saw Melissa walking down the hall in at a hurried pace, she took one look at him and hugged him tightly, “He’s alive, he’s okay.” 

Honestly, it was all he wanted to hear. She sniffed lightly before leading him down the hall to his room, and Stiles could feel his throat tighten at the sight…

He looked mostly bandaged, a bit of blood on the thin sheet, various tubes and needles sticking into him. His eyes were lidded but Stiles knew he was awake. 

“Dad?” Stiles asked in a small voice, his knees threatening to buckle as he neared the bed, gently taking his father’s limp hand. 

“Stiles?” John croaked tiredly, he tried moving his head but a quick flinch proved it wasn’t going to happen. 

“I’ll be right outside.” Melissa reassured with a small smile. She closed the door and Stiles inhaled deeply, tears already spilling. 

“How are you?” He asked, keeping his voice level. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout it…” John dismissed with a lopsided grin, “Just a few bumps and bruises, I’m gonna be fine.” 

Stiles caved, and sat down, he laced his fingers together so he was cupping his father’s hand. He pressed it to his cheek as he rested his head at John’s side. He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt his father’s other hand rest on his head comfortingly. 

“Genim…” John sighed, “It’s going to be okay.” 

Stiles didn’t respond, continuing to cry silently as his father began to pet his head weakly. 

A few days passed, followed with the same routine; Stiles would spend the whole day with his dad, just in the room, laying at his side, or sleeping in the chair… It had been some drug dealer, they thought they were busting a low level user, it turned out he was armed and fired a few rounds at the cops before he was taken down. The Sheriff had been hit twice, once in the leg and another in the shoulder. Unfortunately it was too much of a strain because a month after most of his recovery, a heart attack followed. Melissa had confided that he wouldn’t survive another one. 

Stiles knew his father would never leave this hospital, and it killed him. The pack never really entered the room, aside from a passing greeting; they felt like they were intruding. They mostly gave Stiles the space he needed, Scott was doing his best but Stiles had shut everything else out but his dad, and with the latest news that his father’s heart wasn’t strong enough, it was definitely suspected to be the final few weeks that John and Stiles would have together. 

It was halfway through the week when John shuffled slightly, Stiles raised his head expectantly as his father starred at the ceiling and squeezed his son’s hand. He shuffled again and cleared his throat. 

“Dad?” Stiles asked, a hint of panic leaking into his tone. 

John rubbed his thumb along his son’s hand and swallowed, “I love you, son.” 

Stiles blinked, “I love you, too…”

“But…I can’t do this…I can’t have you do this.” John sighed. 

“Do what?” Stiles frowned. 

“I want you to leave, spend the week over at the loft or wherever the ‘pack’ spends their time, I don’t want you alone, go to them or Scott or whoever, I don’t care I just can’t have you here.” John blurted. 

“I’m not leaving….” Stiles scowled with a defensive tone. “Why the hell would you want-” Stiles swallowed as his emotions began to seep into his tone. “I’m not just going to leave you here.” 

“I love you, son, but I’m not having you watch me…” Sheriff Stilinski waved his free hand, “waste away in here.” 

“Wha-” Stiles recoiled and opened his mouth in protest, “I’m supposed to leave you here to…to, what, die alone?” 

John sighed, “I don’t want you seeing me like this.” 

Stiles huffed, “What, so that means I should just waltz off and wait for the fucking inheritance?!” Tears were falling hot now. 

“Stiles, I need you to do this for me, this is better, I’m not trying to push you away bu-” 

“BUT you just want me to waste the last god damn week of our time? You’re dying, for fucks sake I’m not just going to abandon you because you think that I’ll make me feel better, there’s no damn closure in this dad, there’s no way you’re leaving without me being miserable and so telling me to do this-”

“I don’t want your last memories of me to be like this.” John countered angrily. 

Stiles gaped and frowned, “Wait, you think that I won’t remember you like this if I leave now? Fuck, just because I saw mom die doesn’t mean I can’t remember her when she wasn’t panicking to remember where the hell she was!” Stiles was standing now, red-faced. 

“It’s my choice, Stiles, and you’re not staying here, not through this!” John yelled. “GO, GET OUT!” 

Stile was turning around and slamming the door before he could comprehend what he was doing. He was running out of the hospital worked up and so enraged. Stiles got inside of his jeep, cranking the key in the ignition and aggressively barreled out of the parking lot, speeding down the highway at ridiculous speeds, not even sure where he was heading. 

Stiles hadn’t stopped; once the chain that blocked off the preserve was in the way he simply drove through. And once he was deep inside the woods he got out, pacing around his jeep with the sound of crunching leaves and rushing blood all around him. The thrumming of his heart beat quickening with each heavy step until he couldn’t hold it in anymore. 

He screamed, tears rushing down his reddened cheeks, his hands shaking as he knelt to the ground, standing quickly to kick the closest object, his tire, and when it didn’t budge he grabbed his cell out of his pocket and with all his strength threw it into the woods. He grabbed his aluminum bat from the backseat and swung at his windshield, letting out more screams.

He couldn’t help that with each hit he could see the faces of them: Erica, her mangled body in the bank; Heather’s bloodied body being held by a wire round her pale neck; Boyd’s tired, dead eyes and wetted clothes, tainted with red blood; Allison’s shuddering form as her whimpers slowly faded with an abrupt, disgusting gurgle of clotted blood…Claudia, her vacant stare and soft brown hair framing her frail face. Her lips chapped and inches from his face, she had kissed his forehead moments before the convulsions stared…he’d like to think it was because her memories flooded back but it was most likely instinctual, he was a frightened and crying nine-year old boy. 

By the end he had smashed out every window, dented every inch of the body and ripped off the side-view mirrors.

His last few screams sounded until they were broken with sobs and his voice was heavy with use. The bat fell with a thud and he fell with his back to the drivers side tire. Grabbing his knees close to his chest his whole body shuddered with his cries. His ears were plugged, and he could barely hear the steps in the crunchy leaves before two hands pulled him close. Scott. 

He wrapped his strong arms around him and gently rocked them, whispering nothings and pressing a gentle kiss to his temple as he continued to sob. He could feel the warmth as Lydia sat across from them and smiled weakly with a small blanket in her hands. Isaac knelt between them and looked down at his feet as if he wasn’t sure how to comfort him. Kira was at Scott’s side with her phone to her ear nodding and reassuring, probably Melissa, that they had found him. 

Out of the corner of his eye he could see a hand tenderly reaching from behind him, and slowly, it gently rested on his shoulder. It was a simple touch, barely one at all, but it had spread a warming sensation through Stiles’s body. Inexplicably powerful; as Lydia reached for his knee and mimicked Derek’s movement, Isaac and Kira began to do the same. The pain seemed to fade, but no proof of the pain-leeching power was shown on the werewolves’ hands or veins. The feeling that had solidified took over the beating of his heart, and pulsed like a flickering candlelight. 

No matter how broken it was…it felt like home. It felt like pack.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you cry? Sorry bout that. 
> 
> Don't fret, if you find errors please let me know and I'll be happy to fix them! :)


End file.
